


Emptiness To Melody

by FoundInTheStars



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 100 Drabble Challenge, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Light Angst, Nightmares, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Peter Quill, Team as Family, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-11
Updated: 2019-11-11
Packaged: 2020-10-14 19:48:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20606318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FoundInTheStars/pseuds/FoundInTheStars
Summary: Collection of works based off of the 100 Prompt Challenge following Starmora and the rest of the Guardians of the Galaxy.Chapter 2:Rocket glanced up and was surprised to find Quill sitting up in bed, a single palm covering his face and his other, white-knuckled, fist grasping onto the sheets. “...kay?” An afflicted whine came out of the man, one Rocket had never heard before in his entire life. “Quill?”Pete dropped his shaky palm and turned to face him. “Rocket?” He called out. Rocket stared at the human with wide eyes, unable to miss the swirling purple and blues in his eye sockets. “What’s—?” Quill’s voice quavered with horror.“I—What’s happening to me—?”





	1. As Sweet As The Sound / Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! This is the first work as part of my new series, "Emptiness To Melody"! The works are all based off prompts from the 100 prompt challenge, but as for now I am going out of order and have not decided whether or not I am actually going to have this series be 100 works. These will be released whenever I have ideas for stories.
> 
> They're probably going to be mostly Starmora based, but definitely a lot of team based stuff too.
> 
> And with that, let's get on with the first prompt! 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞

“I don't want your apology.”

Peter huffed and threw his arms up in exasperation. 

Gamora stiffened her jaw, resisting the urge to click it. She did not wish to reveal the full extent of her irritability. 

“Well good! Because I don't even know what I’d be apologizing for!” Peter yelled as he followed her out of the dingy little Xandarian bar the team was currently occupying. 

The team was docked planetside after another Nova Corp’s assigned mission. The principle of the job was simple enough; they were tasked with infiltrating a notorious weapons dealer organization and reporting back with any information regarding potential threats against Xandar. Rocket and Drax were to collect as much information as they could from the dealers’ database while Gamora and Peter were to be disguised, only answering to their own fabricated aliases and gathering intel from the traders themselves.

The Guardians of the Galaxy had only been a household name for a couple of months. Many sectors of the galaxy heard tell of their unique group, but would be unable to put their names to their faces if it came down to it. This particular mission was thought to be one of the times where their indistinguishability could be used for their benefit. 

It was supposed to be a straightforward task; comparably elementary to the few jobs they had taken in the past. 

“If this is about what happened today—”

“I do not know what you are referring to.” Gamora increased the distance between them and began her pursuit to the Milano.

“Come on, Gamora.” Peter followed after her and grabbed onto her arm.

Gamora pulled her arm out of his grasp and took several steps back. A low, almost animal-like, growl crept up her throat and shook her vocal cords. She winced at her response to his simple touch. 

“Sorry, I—”

“You should go back inside and make sure Rocket and Drax are behaving themselves.” Gamora rubbed absently at the spot Peter had just held.

She didn't miss the way his face fell at the suggestion. He shifted on his feet and fiddled with the handles of his blasters.

“What about you? Those psychos from earlier could still be looking for us. And what- I.. I’m just supposed to let you walk to the ship alone?”

Gamora rolled her eyes.

“I am not a child, Quill. I managed to defend myself against assailants my entire life. I do not need you to supervise my every move.”

She bit her lip to keep from lashing out further.

“Hey, no. I- I just,” Peter choked on his words. “I’m just a little worked up about y’know… what went down earlier, I guess... but yeah, you can protect yourself. I’ll back off.”

Gamora tilted her head downwards and back up again, an almost imperceptible response to his explanation. She turned around as soon as he shifted his gaze from her and stalked off towards the Milano to get some much needed seclusion.

She held onto the hilt of her sword, scanning her surroundings as she trudged on. 

Xandar was a well developed and protected planet. It was unlikely that the weapon dealers would have followed them here while they were under the Nova Corps’ jurisdiction. Even so, it was hard to shake Peter’s words from her thoughts.

Gamora knew that Peter meant well, but she was too busy holding onto irrational anger. Times like these she knew the best course of action would be to distance herself. 

She got into the Milano and headed straight for her bunk. 

It was a small space. If she was being honest, it would be an exaggeration to refer to it as anything greater than that. Even still, she would prefer it over living on Thanos’ ship. It’s not like that meant much, though; Gamora would settle for living in a cage if it meant never stepping foot on that ship again.

Gamora sat on her comforter and placed the Godslayer in its usual spot, resting atop the miniature nightstand adjacent to her bed. She pulled out her favorite knife and set it onto her lap, grabbing the smooth cloth she grew accustomed to cleaning her blades with. She ran the cloth across the metal, wiping at the spots of dark red that stained the edge.

She let out a sigh and allowed herself a moment to regard her warped reflection in the freshly cleaned weapon. A single finger traced the edge of the knife as she squeezed onto its hilt, acting as if the dagger was to blame for this particular moment of inner torment. 

The events of the day had been rough, to say the very least. Which was a shame, considering the way that it started.

Gamora woke up in the morning to Peter leaning over her bunk, waving a long-sleeved navy blue dress in front of her face, close enough that had it been anyone else they would have been left to writhe on the floor in a puddle of their own blood. She woke up unable to hide the mirth consuming her features as Peter beamed and became giddy over the prospect of her wearing a fancy dress, his reaction almost making her excited to wear the garment. Gamora had her fair share of laughter at the formal, all black, tuxedo that Peter had on, completely out-of-character in comparison to the casual style she observed him sporting over the last few months.

“Kevin Bacon,” Peter said as he introduced himself to the weapon dealers later in the evening, lips taut in a straight line to keep from laughing at the alias he insisted on, despite protests that he would be unable to keep his composure. Gamora was surprised he was able to get the name out at all, but Peter continued to surprise her with his selective maturity during crucial moments.

“Let us save the introductions for after we discuss the terms of our engagement,” said one of the dealers. The leader was a Blue Kree, black painted beneath his eyes in a manner so much like Ronan that it caused Gamora to begin scouting potential escape routes.

The other members of the group were Blue Kree as well, save for two Sakaaran soldiers and one Chitauri. They did not make any moves to speak or otherwise interact with Gamora and Peter, saving all conversation for their leader. A few of the Kree stared forward at them, and Gamora searched their eyes for any sense of recognition. She pondered the unlikelihood that they, apparent Ronan sympathizers, would be oblivious to their true identities. 

But if they made it this far, maybe they were in the clear.

“Yes.” Peter cleared his throat. Gamora suspected he was beginning to follow her train of thought as well. “We are in the market for a high class weapon. Name your price and we will be more than happy to oblige.”

The leader nodded and shot a quick glance to his associates.

“Very well. Follow this way and we will show you the various collections of weaponry we handle in our trade.”

The dealers marched forward and Peter hung back to step beside Gamora.

“Nova Prime did not mention that they would be Kree Purists,” Gamora hissed under her breath once they were no longer in their range of hearing.

“I don't think she knew. Hey, what are the odds these guys have no clue who we are?”

“Slim,” Gamora winced. “At the very least they should have recognized me, I often worked for Ronan upon Thanos’ command. Either they are trying to lead us into a false sense of security or they are not familiar with Ronan’s history.”

“Come now,” the leader called out as he entered a room down the corridor. “We will show you how our high class weapons operate.”

Gamora and Peter stepped inside the room as the door shut behind them. 

“Do you get a lot of business or is—”

“What species are you, Mr. Bacon? If you don't mind me asking, of course.” The leader closed his distance between him and Peter, taking time to evaluate the man. “Xandarian, perhaps?”

Gamora resisted the urge to curse under her breath.

“No, actually.” Peter’s face contorted at the suggestion, and Gamora was stunned by how quickly he adapted to his role. “I don’t appreciate that assumption, but it is one I get often. I’m Kree, Pink Kree.”

“Oh, yes. Of course, my apologies.” The leader shook his head in embarrassment and gestured for his team to grab the weapon.

One of the Sakaaran soldiers handed over a minuscule, silver cylindrical object to the painted Kree. He held it in both hands and ran his palm across the smooth metal.

“This is one of our newest creations. It comes at a hefty price, I must warn you,” the Kree spoke.

“I can assure you, no matter the price we have plenty of units to spare,” Peter said, his best approximation of a snobby laugh escaping his lips. Gamora straightened her posture and fiddled with the expensive ring on her finger, hoping to play into their wealthy facade without coming off too strong.

“I don't doubt that Mr. Bacon, but that was not what I meant.” Gamora raised a makeup-covered brow, her distinctive silver etchings hidden beneath. “This is no ordinary weapon.”

“How so?” Gamora gazed intently at the object, tilting her head and keeping her focus on the Kree’s hands.

The leader cackled, face twisting into a mirthless smile. He tapped a long, curled fingernail onto the metal before turning towards Gamora.

“On a much larger scale a similar weapon can be made capable of total planetary destruction. It has been forged with elements outlawed in thousands of planets across the galaxy.” His associates nodded amongst themselves. “We have hoped to use this weapon ourselves.”

“And why haven't you?”

“Ah, Mrs. Bacon—”

An inexplicable heat rose to her cheeks and flushed her face dark green.

“Alyssa Milano. Mr. Bacon is merely a—business partner, of sorts. I’m sure you understand.”

Peter actually did let out a chuckle at that. Whether it be due to the alias that he _ insisted _ she take or because of the Kree’s assumption, she did not know.

“Ah, yes, Mrs. Milano. Well, if I may be direct with you… we had hoped to continue our Master Ronan’s work.”

Gamora hid her anxiety behind a stone cold expression; face showing no signs of acceptance or disapproval. She hoped that Rocket and Drax were almost wrapped up because certainly things were about to take a turn for the worse.

“Surely you’ve heard of the treachery that occurred on Xandar resulting in his demise, yes?” 

The dealers hummed in agreement with their leader.

“I have heard of it, yes.”

“Ronan’s mission to cleanse the galaxy of Xandarian scum cost him his life. You must see now why we are apprehensive about facing the Nova Corps and those wretched Guardians of the Galaxy.”

Gamora held her breath.

“Look, I hate those guys as much as you do.” Peter seemed to be enjoying himself a bit too much, despite the sheer severity of the situation. He was grinning, perhaps at the fact that the self-proclaimed ‘supporters of Ronan’ were too cowardly to face Xandar and the Guardians themselves. Or _ recognize _ them, even. 

“But we don't have a lot of time to chat. If you could just show us how it works, we can work out our deal and be on our way,” Peter finished.

“Very well,” the leader twisted the top portion of the cylinder and a red blinking light protruded from the side. The weapon began to whine and buzz with each flash. He tossed the device across the room, landing a good distance away at what appeared to be a testing zone for that exact purpose.

It was more than far enough, and yet the leader said, “You may want to stand back.”

The cylinder combusted and a shock wave was sent through the room, sending drywall and sharp pieces of cement in every direction. Gamora’s modifications kept her standing upwards, but somewhere to her right she could hear the distinct thump of someone hitting the floor.

There was complete silence for a moment before her hearing returned in the form of muffled sounds she was too disoriented to make out. There was a soft rustling as a bit of paper floated down to the ground, still burning. The reflection of flames on the wall lit the room with an orange glow.

The someone next to her staggered to his feet, his breathing rough and heartbeat loud enough to hear from miles away. Gamora had trouble seeing and her ears still felt like they were stuffed with cotton, but she shut her eyes and forced them to focus when they reopened.

“What the hell, man!” Gamora was able to identify the man beside her as Peter. He ran his fingers through his disheveled hair, the gel he used to bolster his wealthy appearance doing little to contain the stray hairs littering his forehead. “_Stars_ sake, what was that?” Peter yelled.

The leader faced the wreckage consuming the other side of the room and smiled, seeming very pleased with himself. One of the Sakaaran soldiers remained strewn across the concrete, yellow blood staining the floor beneath him. No one made any moves to survey the body. He was nothing but a small casualty on their road towards revenge.

“That, Mr. Bacon, was justice unfolded. We shall create a weapon of this caliber, increased tenfold in scale.” His laugh turned manic, his chuckles short bursts of thunderous calamity. “Of course, as per our deal you may obtain the size at which we have just shown. Is that to your satisfaction?”

“I—”

“Yes,” Gamora rushed to speak over Peter. “We’ll take it.” The leader nodded and turned around to face them.

His smile vanished.

Gamora was taken aback by the change in his demeanor. The other dealers, whom had just turned around as well, shot up and reached for their blasters. The leader took a few steps forward. Gamora got into a defensive position as he approached her, or as defensive as she could be with her weapons in possession of the dealers, who stripped them of arms before entering.

What surprised her was when the leader stepped up to face Peter instead.

Gamora was confused by the look on Peter’s face. He resembled a child who was about to be reprimanded, biting his lip and furrowing his brow, aggravating the fresh cut that sat above.

_ Cut _

_ Blood _

_ Red _

_Terran_

The four remaining soldiers jumped into action, grabbing Gamora’s arms despite her struggles and pinning them behind her back. Something white and hot jammed into her back and caused her to collapse onto her knees. Her vision swirled and her head lolled forward against her control. Gamora willed herself to lift her head, the shock from whatever weapon they used to strike her still leaving her body to twitch and spasm.

Peter wasn't faring much better. The leader had him pinned against the wall, Gamora’s own jagged blade pressed against his throat and inching closer with every frantic breath that inflated his chest.

“You are the Terran who killed our master. You have committed a crime worthy of eternal suffering!” 

Gamora was hoping, praying, _ begging _ for Rocket and Drax to be almost finished wrapping up. 

“Don't touch him!” Gamora yelled, not knowing why the words cracked with emotion in her throat. _ Because he’s on your team. He is your friend. _Yes, friends are something to protect. That’s all. Gamora does not get emotional, but friends are something to get emotional for. People get emotional when their friends are hurt. That has to be the reason as to why she began to thrash with renewed urgency as the leader began to draw blood on his throat.

“And you, you must be the Daughter of Thanos,” one of the Kree said as he tightened his hold around Gamora’s wrists. To prove it, he ran a thumb across one of her cheeks, smearing the green hue of the makeup and revealing her infamous silver etchings.

Gamora would have been able to escape the dealers’ hold were it not for the way her body continued to react to the shock. Her legs felt like lead and she could not free her hands from their grasp. She could count the times she felt this vulnerable on one hand. It was not often that she could be outperformed in combat.

Gamora made a note to have Rocket check on her mods when they made it back onto the Milano.

The leader released the pressure he had on Peter’s neck, a slow trail of blood oozing from the, thankfully, shallow cut. 

“She betrayed Ronan and Thanos. She shall be our first subject in our search for justice.” He turned towards Peter. “Take her to the room. We have no use for this Terran scum, yet.”

Gamora took in a deep breath. She didn't know what _ the room _ was, but she didn't think it was good, considering she was referred to as their first subject.

“No!” Peter struggled, sending the knife to return to its spot against his neck. “I grabbed the stone first! I killed Ronan with my own hand! Not her!”

“Take me, not her.”

A figure approached Gamora’s left side and placed a tentative hand onto the square of her back. She flinched and pushed back against their force, hand grasping the hilt of her dagger and pressing it to their neck, mimicking the way that the leader held Peter now…

_ Peter? _

_ Dagger? How did she have— _

“Gamora?” A familiar pair of green eyes swam in her vision.

That didn't make sense.

Her eyes refocused, and she took in the scene around her. Gamora’s hand was pressed towards someone's throat, _ Peter’s throat, _ dagger placed against the small white bandage that was placed there earlier. She was back in her bunk. They were safe. She was safe. 

_ No. _

He wasn't safe, he had a dagger pressed against his throat.

She gasped and allowed the knife to clatter to the floor.

“Gamora?” Peter’s eyes were wide, searching for an answer in hers.

_ He’s afraid of you. _

Gamora’s breath was caught in her throat. She felt it in her chest first, tightening and rising until her throat stung with bile. She staggered back on the bed until she hit the wall. 

“Hey.” Peter’s voice hitched as he stayed in place on her bunk, likely knowing that any sudden movement would not fare well for him. “It- It’s me, it’s Peter.”

The pressure in her lungs was unbearable. Gamora gasped until her automatic respiratory regulators forced her to breathe, air coming in swift and cold. The reminder of her modifications only served to send her spiraling further into panic.

Peter must have had a death wish because he inched forward and grabbed her trembling hand. 

“I- I’m sorry, Peter. I-”

Peter shook his head and squeezed her hand. “No, I shouldn't have snuck up on you like that. We’re all a little tense, I should have realized that.” He lowered his head to meet her own blank eyes from where they bore holes in the floor.

A single tear escaped as she looked up at him through dewy eyelashes. His face crumpled, fine lines creasing with a look akin to sadness. 

“Hey, ‘Mora.” Using two fingers, Peter lifted her chin to face him. “What is it?”

“Wh- _ What _ is it?” Gamora reeled back, unsure of how he could possibly not know what was wrong with the situation they were in. “Peter, I nearly slit your throat! I could have killed you!”

“Not the first time that's almost happened today. Or even the first time you’ve—” Gamora frowned. “Okay, not funny. Sorry.”

Gamora sighed and curled into herself. Peter was trying to protect her again, this time from herself. He continued to insist that everything was fine, although Gamora did not miss his apparent flushed cheeks and dilated pupils, indicating that she had taken him by surprise with her attack.

“But, really, I’m like 100% okay. Look!” Peter lifted their joint hands, awkwardly fumbling with the appendages until he placed her index and middle fingers against a spot beneath his jaw and above the bandage. “Do you feel that?”

Gamora frowned with confusion as he rested her fingers against his clammy skin. She focused on feeling for any specific sensation, brows furrowing until a distinct thump became apparent. She pulled her fingers away as if they had been scalded, releasing a small gasp at the sudden movement. Gamora gaped at him, holding her fingers in her other fist.

“Peter! Wha-” It wasn't often that Gamora found herself at a loss for words, but the memory of the pulsing on her fingertips left her speechless.

Gamora swooped down to the floor and repositioned her hand around the hilt of the dagger she had used against him moments ago. She didn’t watch his reaction, but instead focused her attention on the spot where the thumping prevailed.

“I’ll get it out, Peter! Hold still—”

“Woah, woah, woah,” Peter held his hands up in defense, his lips remaining curved as soft chuckles emitted from his throat. “There’s nothing inside there. It’s just my pulse.” She didn’t understand how he could be smiling, how he could laugh when something foreign was attempting to thud its way outside of him.

“Your pulse?”

“Yeah, it’s like a—” Peter paused, face twisting in thought. “Well, it means my heart is beating. I think it has something to do with the arteries pumping blood there.”

“Terrans can feel this… through their skin?” Gamora’s face pinched up at the thought of feeling her own bodily functions operating from the outside. “I should have guessed, with how easily your thin skin can be cut.” She gestured towards the covered cut on his neck left there by the Kree Purist.

“Hey! There was a lot of anger behind that cut,” he laughed, even as a small wince escaped at the memory. “And, yeah, as far as I know Terrans feel for pulses to tell whether someone is dead or alive.”

It was comforting in a way, the thought of always being able to sense whether his organs were functioning properly. Gamora couldn’t fathom how something so alien could be _ comforting; _she couldn’t process the fact that his organs doing their jobs could somehow bring her comfort at all.

“And this method works every time?”

“As long as I’m alive, yeah.” His voice was so casual, so Peter-like despite discussing a potentially serious topic.

Gamora placed the dagger beside her and reached out with the same two fingers Peter had her use before. 

“May I?”

Peter nodded. The pink hue of his flushed cheeks spread across his face as he tilted his head to give her access to the spot. Gamora placed her shaking fingers against his neck, remaining quiet as she felt for the unmistakable sensation. 

“I must admit, this is one of the more useful characteristics of Terrans… being able to feel for life.” Gamora paused. “I can already hear your heartbeat, though.”

Gamora didn't mention how his heart fluttering beneath her fingers was a completely different and amazing feeling. She figured there wasn't a way to voice that without filling his head with unfounded hope.

“Maybe but, still, this way you can feel how weak or how strong it is.”

Gamora pushed down the incoming thoughts of having to put the new information to use. Thoughts of him becoming so incapacitated that she’d have to feel for his pulse began to become legitimate fears.

“Are you planning on having a near death experience soon, Quill?” Gamora said as she took her hand away.

“No! No, this is just… useful information. Y’know, about my species.” Peter stammered. “And I thought it’d help, showing I’m still alive and all after…” Peter’s voice teetered off. 

“Obviously you are still alive, you are speaking and—”

Peter's frown became apparent.

“I’m messing with you,” Gamora said self-consciously. Jokes were only amusing when he did them, but he frequently encouraged her to try. 

Peter smiled anyway. 

“It did help, thank you,” she allowed, her voice cracking as she broke their gaze.

“Oh. Yeah, no problem.” Peter ran his hand through his hair, which was clear of the gel which had confined his wispy curls earlier in the day. “Sometimes it helps to feel stuff. I don't know why, but it can help you stay grounded. To remind you where you are.”

Peter looked down at his hands.

“Do you do this?”

His laryngeal prominence bobbed in his throat as he gulped.

“Well, not by feeling my pulse, but yeah.” Peter winced, like the admission to his vulnerability was finally catching up to him. “If I have, uh, a bad dream or something. Sometimes it helps to list out all the things I can feel, or the things I can see.”

Gamora couldn’t help but picture Peter alone in his quarters after a nightmare, running his fingers along the wrinkled comforter, holding his mother’s Walkman in his hands, looking out the window and counting the distant galaxies and stars drifting together into one collective picture; she could feel the loneliness in this admittance.

“Really? This helps?”

Peter nodded eagerly, like his enthusiasm would do anything to diminish the outright depressing nature of the topic. “Oh, definitely! Maybe you can try it, the next time—”

“I do not have nightmares.”

Part of Peter’s expression appeared to be challenging, his brow raised as he bit his lip. The other part held something strange, some odd look that she would describe as concern if she didn't know any better.

“Okay,” he said without restraint. “I believe you. But y’know, you don't have to hide that kind of stuff here anymore.”

“I know.”

She knew that. Of course she knew that. But there was something about vulnerability, something about letting him see that side of her that brought a bitter taste to her mouth. 

How is it so easy for him?

Peter nodded and smiled, though the grin fell as a wave of realization seemed to have washed over him.

“Why were you mad at me? Earlier, when you left,” Peter said. His hands sat idle against his legs, his face showcasing a bleak look as his eyes evaluated her reaction to the question.

“I was not mad.”

Peter scoffed, crossing his arms and giving her a small pout of the lower lip. “Oh, so when _ you _ storm out on people it means you're _ not _ mad at them.”

“There was no storming out of anywhere. I simply wanted to return to the ship.” Her voice became bitter. “Not everything concerns you, Quill.”

“Peter,” he said, dropping his pouty facade and meeting her eyes.

“What?”

“The others call me Quill. You’re the only one who calls me Peter,” he paused, green eyes pleading with hers. “You only call me Quill when you're mad.”

Gamora sighed, feeling his gaze follow her as she moved to stare down at the thin sheets.

“I just don't understand why you did it.”

“So I did do something.”

“They were going to take me. You were going to be left alone, long enough for Rocket and Drax to find you.” Gamora shook her head at the memory. “If the Purists succeeded, you would have died when you otherwise would have lived.”

Peter’s eyes were vacant with a look that signified he was trying to understand where she was coming from. His confusion shone through like a beacon.

“Yeah, okay. Rocket and Drax got us in time for both of us to escape though. I don't see how—”

She couldn't control the anger wracking her body. It didn't feel warranted, but that didn't stop the frustration from bubbling forward with its rising intensity.

“You didn’t know that! For all you knew, sacrificing yourself meant that I would live and you would die!”

Peter shrugged, a knowing and shy smile lighting up his face. “Pretty much,” he said, not showing any semblance of concern for his own wellbeing.

“Stop,” Gamora turned away. “Don't- Don’t make this some joke, Peter. I’m trying to wrap my head around this and you're not making it any easier.”

“There’s nothing to understand! I’d sacrifice everything for you,” Peter cleared his throat and ran a palm down the backside of his neck. “For this team... I’d do anything for any of you.”

“You’d give your life for me?” Gamora was taken aback, unable to comprehend the sheer absurdity of it all. “Why?” 

It was hard to see from his perspective. Gamora couldn’t understand how someone would rather die than live without another person, how he would rather die than live without her.

“I love being on this team. You're the first real friends I’ve ever had.” 

_ Oh. _ His words struck her like a missile. The concept of friendship was foreign for her as well, but having them in her life was better than anything she could have imagined for herself. Maybe, _ just maybe _, she was beginning to understand his point of view.

“It is strange, having friends. No one has ever valued my life like that before, especially not over their own.”

“Yeah, well, I tend to care a lot.”

“Caring never got me far on Thanos’ ship.” Gamora wrapped her arms around her midsection, providing comfort as well as protecting herself from any outburst that would come due to her show of vulnerability. It wasn’t needed, not around Peter, but it felt right.

“As a child I would check in on Nebula and my other siblings often, but when they began to disappear… when Thanos began to make us fight for the honor of survival…” Gamora trailed off at the horrified look on Peter’s face. She knew she had to finish, though. She had to explain why this was all so new to her, why his benevolent actions filled her with a deep sense of despair.

“Caring was a death wish for us.”

Peter reached over and grabbed her hand once more, intertwining their fingers and twirling one of her rings around with the pad of his thumb.

“It doesn't have to be that way here,” he said. “I don't want to lose this.”

_ This. _ Gamora did not know what _ this _ was, but she was glad for it.

“I do not wish to lose this either.”

“So you're not mad?” His green eyes softened, the corners of them wrinkling as a vibrant smile rejoined his features. In the short time Gamora had known him, he was always easy to please.

“I do not like you putting yourself in danger for me, but I think I understand why you have done it.”

“That’s good enough for me,” Peter said, a visible weight removing itself from his shoulders. He really did care. Peter cared to a point that was borderline unhealthy. His day was just as bad as hers, if not much worse, and yet he was so occupied with making sure she was okay. Gamora was dumbfounded, unsure of how it was possible for one man to be so concerned with the thoughts of another.

“How do you do it?” Gamora asked, leaving her question vague. She found it much easier to articulate her thoughts when they came fragmented and not all at once.

“Do what?” His confused expression returned, but his smile remained. He swung his legs onto the bed to sit in a more comfortable position. Peter was unfazed at their proximity, indifferent to being situated on her bunk. 

The words felt heavy on her tongue. With the way he was looking at her they became distant and unimportant. Gamora paused to regain her train of thought. “How do you… show others… that you care for them?” She explained.

“Well, that’s easy.” Peter sobered up a bit, likely sensing the hesitance in her voice. “You already know how. You do it all the time!”

“I don't know if I—”

“Sure you do! You help Rocket water Groot a ton, you always listen to my stories even when it's late and I won't quit talking, hell… you grabbed my hand to help share the power of a _ freakin’ _ infinity stone, you—”

“And that is....”

“Caring!” His face lit up as he threw his arms with added emphasis. “It’s not something you intentionally _ try _ to do, it’s just something… you do?” He tried to find the appropriate words. “Something you _ want _ to do,” he clarified.

Gamora nodded.

“You wanted to sacrifice yourself for me?” She knew the answer; she remembered the look of pure determination as he all but signed over a death certificate to the Kree Purists.

“I mean, yeah.” Peter didn’t hesitate. His voice came out in almost a whisper, husky and strong and resolute.

“Thank you.” Gamora never thought two words could make her feel so exposed, yet here she was, pledging her allegiance to a Ravager. A man who was supposed to be no more than a crook and a lying thief. A man who had become her best friend despite this, and all the while proving he was none of those things after all.

“Thank you?” He sounded unsure.

“I do not wish for you to do something like that again, but I believe you deserve at least a ‘thank you’,” Gamora offered a swift smile just as the booming voices of a drunk raccoon and warrior entered the ship.

“Of course.”

-o-

She found herself standing outside his door that night.

Her hand hovered parallel to the door, fingers encased in a tight fist. Every fiber of her body screamed at her to knock, but her arm remained transfixed with the weight of the prospective action. Gamora tried to reason with herself, listing off the consequences of knocking.

_ What if he doesn't want to see you? _

No, Peter was always kind to her. Peter was always there when she needed him to be.

_ What if he’s asleep? _

The soft, familiar melody of his music reverberated from inside, quiet but loud enough for her to pick up on.

_ What if he’s… _

Gamora knocked, quicker and harder than she would have liked. Peter’s off key humming ceased and replaced itself with the rustling of rapid footsteps.

He opened the door faster than expected. So fast that he did not have the time to fix his wild hair or, as embarrassing as it was to notice, put on a shirt.

“Gamora? You good?” His tone was calm, but there was an unsure panic lying beneath his casual demeanor.

“I’m fine,” she said, her arms wrapped around herself as the chill of the ship pierced her skin.

“Do you want to come in?”

Gamora nodded and stepped inside, Peter closing the door behind them and walking over to his drawers to throw on a plain, dark gray t-shirt.

“What’s wrong?” He asked once he got the shirt on over his head.

“I lied.”

“You lied?”

Gamora shifted on her feet. She clenched her fist and let out an overdrawn sigh.

“I have nightmares. Sometimes.”

That was all that he needed, apparently, because he made his way over to his bed and patted an empty space next to him. She walked over, climbing onto the small bunk and fixating herself beside him awkwardly.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Gamora shook her head. 

“Okay.” Silence followed his acceptance, but it was more peaceful than uncomfortable. He shifted his position to be leaning up against the wall and she followed his lead, sitting with her legs tucked up beneath her.

“It was about today,” she said, because she felt like she had to offer something, although vague.

She expected him to pry, but he didn't. He nodded once and surveyed the room.

“What do you see?” He said.

“What?” Gamora watched him as he scanned their surroundings.

“Come on, humor me.”

Gamora was drawn to the walls of his room. They were made with a smooth metalloid of some kind, sturdy but thin.

“There is a crack right above the door,” Gamora pointed out, “I see a tiny dent in the—”

Peter rolled his eyes in what very well may have been the most over-exaggerated eye roll she had ever seen.

“Hey! You're supposed to be listing off things you see, not things that are wrong with my ship.” Peter laughed.

Gamora smiled, already feeling a million times better than she had before she decided to knock.

“Go on,” he said, a smile still gracing his lips.

“I see you.”

Peter hummed. “What do you feel?”

“The blanket.”

He nodded.

“I feel…” This one was considerably harder. She ran her thumb along the blanket and distracted herself by tracing symbols long lost in Zehoberei culture.

Peter reached for her hand as it finished tracing a pattern she could only partly gather the meaning of. He raised it back up to his neck, and she placed the back of her palm against the spot, taking in his warmth before flipping her hand over and placing the same two fingers over the artery.

“Me,” he whispered. “I’m here. I’ll always be here.”

Gamora nodded and bit back the tears pooling in her eyes. She had a home here. She was with people who cared. People who loved.

And so she lay there, his love for her beneath her fingertips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How did a prompt about love turn into whatever this angsty, over-plotted mess is? I originally had Peter comforting Gamora and explaining his love for the team, but then... pulses? 
> 
> I don't know, but I hope you enjoyed! As always, please leave kudos, reviews, or drop in your favorite quotes! :))
> 
> UPDATE 11/3/19- I decided that I will be completing the prompts in chapter format rather than individual works! This way they can be as long or as short as I want them, and I don't have like 300 works on my profile. Sorry for any confusion!


	2. A Human Spirit Ringin' / Eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I updated the end notes for the last chapter, but incase you didn't see it I decided that I will be completing the prompts in chapter format rather than individual works! This way they can be as long or as short as I want them, and I don't have like 300 works on my profile. I hope it's not super annoying this way, but it is a 100 prompt challenge and geez... that's a lot of prompts.
> 
> Without further ado, the next prompt, eyes, is based off of this fanart
> 
> https://goosterbold.tumblr.com/post/163460979380

The first thing Rocket was able to discern in the moments between unconsciousness and consciousness was the feeling of small arms tugging at his fur. He ignored the sensation and curled into himself, tightening the position he was accustomed to sleeping in, the blankets positioned around him like a warm nest. 

“I am Groot!”

Rocket groaned, his sleep addled brain too far gone to recognize any sense of urgency in the small tree’s inflection. The pulling morphed into frantic shaking before Groot pulled back his ear—taking to screaming directly inside of it instead.

**“I am Groot!”**

Rocket’s eyes cracked open at that, half-lidded as he peered up at him. It was hard enough to keep them open, the pull of sleep dragging him closer with every passing second. Groot’s sudden anxious nature was the only thing keeping him from sliding back into oblivion. “Groot?” Rocket questioned, his voice almost incomprehensible in his disorientedness.

The raccoon shifted over onto his back, keeping his gaze locked on Groot from where he sat atop his shoulder. “Whuz wrong?” He rubbed his eyes before a distinct, wooden sensation smacked onto his nose, “Get yer hand off my nose…”

“I am Groot!” _ Peter! _

Rocket nearly turned over and went back to sleep at that. Were it not for the way Groot’s eyes gleamed with unshed terror, he most definitely would have. Rocket couldn’t begin to understand how the Terran could warrant such a response, no less in the middle of the goddamn night.

“Uh huh.” Rocket sat up, taking Groot into his hands and sitting him down in front of him. He decided to humor the little sap for a while. Maybe then he could get some d’ast rest for once.

“I am Groot!!” _ His eyes are glowing! You have to come see! We have to help! _

Ah, so that’s what this was all about. The little guy must’ve had a dream about Quill and got so freaked out he convinced himself it was real. See, nightmares were no stranger to any of them, and sharing a ship with four, now _ five, _ emotionally stunted and vaguely traumatized individuals made the ship a breeding ground for nightmares.

“Mm.” Rocket sighed. “I hate to tell ya, but I think yer dreamin’. Humies don’t have glowing eyes.”

“I am Groot!” _ He did! Come on, follow me! _

Groot tugged hard at his clothes, pulling at chunks of his fur along with the fabric, attempting to forcibly yank him out of bed. “Fine! Fine! Would ya quit it? I’m coming.” Rocket threw the blankets aside and got up onto his feet.

Groot grabbed his hand in an instant, deciding that their casual trot was in no way a fast enough response for the situation at hand. He pulled Rocket through the Quadrant, where they would be staying until they could afford to repair the Milano properly or buy a new ship altogether. Besides, the Milano was cramped enough as it was, and with Mantis as an added member—Kraglin too, if he decided to stay—that would make _ seven _ emotionally stunted individuals under one roof.

The Quadrant’s long hallways were barren and deserted, the only apparent life being Groot and himself. The shrill hum of the ship’s engine reverberated through the corridor, the vibration filling him with a sense of dread that spread through his core. It was probably just all of the tension after Ego. It had only been a couple of weeks since, and a cloud of fear still sat over them like a thick fog. Peter and Gamora seemed to be affected worst of all.

Gamora’s struggle was hard to decipher, and if Rocket wasn’t so d’ast observant, it would’ve just as easily gone unnoticed. It showed through her—not so subtle—hovering around Peter throughout the day cycle. She cast a wary eye as he did normal activities around the ship, once even _ freaking out _when he nicked his finger on a blade while helping Drax make dinner one night. Rocket couldn’t help shouldering a bit of responsibility for her behavior. After all, he had been the one who knocked her unconscious and left her fearing for his life far longer than any of them should have.

With Peter it was more apparent. He mourned in private, some days spending hours in his quarters—with Gamora, of course (he was never alone for very long). Meanwhile, other days he was strangely jubilant. It was disconcerting, and it seemed no one knew what to do about it. So they didn’t do anything. They waited behind closed doors and grimaced as he ignored his feelings and belted the lyrics to several unrecognizable songs.

Rocket would be lying if he said that Groot’s distress, nightmare to blame or not, wasn’t making him feel a little uneasy himself.

“I am Groot!” _ Hurry! _

“Alright, alright,” Rocket said, allowing himself to be led down the hall. “Geez, you’re worked up.” Groot tugged harder at that.

The door to Peter’s quarters was left ajar, which set off a small alarm in his head. Groot hadn’t been here before, right? No, it was just a nightmare, Pete must’ve left it open.

“C’mere.” Rocket pulled the tree into his arms, allowing him to curl into his shoulder. He whimpered out a soft protest of _ I am Groot _ before resigning himself and remaining still in Rocket’s grasp. “It’s gonna be OK-”

“Hey, Pete?” Rocket called from outside the door. He didn’t wait for a response, but instead turned his gaze over to Groot as he pushed the door the rest of the way open, still looking at him as he spoke. “Groot here had a nightmare ‘bout you. Lil sap…” Rocket sighed, rearranging himself to give Groot a better view of the Terran. “See? Pete’s o—”

Rocket glanced up and was surprised to find Quill sitting up in bed, a single palm covering his face and his other, white-knuckled, fist grasping onto the sheets. “...kay?” An afflicted whine came out of the man, one Rocket had never heard before in his entire life. “Quill?”

Pete dropped his shaky palm and turned to face him. “Rocket?” He called out. Rocket stared at the human with wide eyes, unable to miss the swirling purple and blues in his eye sockets. “What’s—?” Quill’s voice quavered with horror.

“I—What’s happening to me—?”

Quill shook like a leaf, his limbs consumed by an intense anxiety that could only result from having your vision obstructed by a whirlpool of purple-blue stars. Rocket was lost in the vibrant hue, the color distinct and carrying the same feeling of suffocation that he had been subjected to on Ego, when the light was used to immobilize all of them. It was a distant sensation, one that he had shoved into the depths of his memory. His eyes were _ glowing, _ glowing like Ego’s powers, glowing like the tendril of light Rocket had seen Quill strung up by as he crashed into the palace _ — _

* * *

“H-Hey! Gamora!”

Gamora jolted up from her bed, reaching over and grabbing Godslayer instinctively. She recovered from her drowsiness almost right away, years of training and torture preparing her for moments like these, moments where anything except complete awareness was a weakness that could not be afforded. Rocket’s yell still rang in her ears, the seriousness nature of his voice so out of character that it took her breath away.

“Gamora!” He yelled again, and Gamora was able to identify where the voice was coming from. 

Peter’s room.

Gamora was out of her self-appointed quarters in an instant, pushing her way out the door and crossing the short distance to the captain’s quarters. The door was thrown wide open, and from the room came the sound of Rocket pleading for Peter to _ talk to him, dammit. _ There was no response, but the sound of Peter’s racing heartbeat was deafening from where she stood paces from the entryway. She didn’t need any more motivation to enter, bursting into the room and suppressing the fleeting thought that she should be prepared in the case of an intruder.

Peter was semi-hunched over in Yondu’s old bed, his gaze transfixed on the wall. The light from the stars poured in through the window, reflecting the rivulets of sweat that trailed down the side of his face. Groups of his tears intermingled with the aforementioned beads of sweat, until his face appeared pale and sheen against the cool backdrop of space. Gamora’s heart stopped when she followed the trail of wetness up to his eyes, only to be greeted by a version of the space outside the window, except somehow much cooler and sinister looking.

The Godslayer dropped at her side and clattered to the ground with a piercing ring.

“Rocket? What is this?” Gamora leapt across the room, positioning herself by Peter’s side in an instant. She grabbed onto his hands, though he continued to stare at the wall as if he was in some kind of a trance.

“Groot found ‘em like this! Don’t ask me!” Rocket was uncharacteristically flustered, gesturing with his right arm while keeping Groot close to his chest with the other. “He was responding at first, but now—”

“Go get Mantis,” Gamora said, still focusing on Peter while Rocket murmured a swift agreement. She drowned out the sound of long claws clicking against the floor in favor of listening to Peter’s rapid heartbeat.

She squeezed his hands before reaching up and moving his head to face her rather than the wall. His galaxy-eyes bore into hers, but carried a blankness that suggested he was looking at something else entirely.

“Peter? Peter, can you hear me?”

“Gamora,” he croaked out, voice tight and breaking with every syllable. His eyes remained devoid of the green she had grown so fond of, the usual white of his sclera a concoction of black matter stretching on for light years in each direction. “What’s—”

“What do you see, Peter?”

_ “Eternity,"_ he said in a voice that was a shell of his normal, cheerful tone. It was as empty as the decaying galaxies in his eyes, a bitter lie that cut at her eardrums as it struck her. “I don’t—Mora make it stop, _ please_…”

“We’re working on it.” Gamora tried to sound as reassuring and calm as possible, ignoring the chill that ran up her spine at the site of him. This was the eternity Peter told her about once the dust settled, days after the fact; it was the eternity Ego used to get Peter to adhere his cause. Ego used the unmistakable beauty of the cosmos to entrance him, appealing to his celestial genes as well as his human side, showcasing god-like artistry that any mortal (or half-mortal) would swoon over.

Gamora never imagined that another individual could rival the bitter hatred that she felt towards Thanos, and yet, Ego pained her in another, more complex way.

A way that she was less equipped to handle.

Her own kidnapping? Her own torture, mental and physical? The modifications that she’d been given against her will, the ones that took the place of her bone and tissue? Now, that was something Gamora dealt with her whole life. Some days, when she looked back on her life thus far, it felt like it was all she had ever known. It was familiar—predictable and inviolable—in some twisted and morbid way.

But to torture her best friend, a companion, a…_loved one_…

That was unforgivable.

Mantis stumbled into the room, trailing behind a concerned raccoon and borderline hysterical sapling. She gasped upon seeing Peter herself, even after certainly having heard the details on her way over. Her antenna lit up instantly, despite being free from the touch of another.

“Let me see him,” Mantis said with clinical attention. She walked over to the side of the bed and, without waiting for permission, placed two palms against the sides of his head.

Gamora bit her tongue, feigning approval despite the feeling of wrongness that consumed her as Mantis read him without direct consent. She knew it was to help, but all Gamora could see was the dejected look Peter cast the first time Mantis exposed his innermost feelings. Gamora could only picture Mantis, pressed up against the wall by her own hand, whispering an unwanted reading of Gamora’s thoughts.

_ You are…scared. _

How could she not be?

A sharp gasp escaped Peter’s throat as the galaxies dissipated from his eyes, the vastness of eternity exiting his vision with a final burst of light from Mantis’ antenna. He let out a breath he had been holding in for an indeterminate amount of time, and wordlessly crumbled into Gamora’s arms.

She pulled him close and rested his head onto her lap, almost cooing as she stroked his hair. She shushed him softly, knowingly—although the only audible noise coming from him was his frantic hyperventilating and pounding heart.

“What the _ flark _ just happened?” Rocket screamed out, running his hands across his matted facial fur. “You better get to explainin’ real quick, Bug Lady!”

Mantis took the next few seconds to stare down at her hands, wringing them and pulling at her fingers. She was still uncomfortable around them, it seemed. That, or the emotions in the room were becoming too much for her to bear.

“Ego often showed his children eternity when my abilities were not enough to make them compliant,” Mantis explained. “None of the other children carried the connection to the light, so Ego—” Mantis frowned, appearing mournful. “They were killed before I was able to see the long term effects it had on them.”

“Effects?” Gamora verbalized what they were all thinking. “Ego’s _ dead,_” she said while continuing to pet Peter’s hair. “How is this possible?”

“Yes, Ego and his light died when his core was destroyed,” Mantis said. Rocket released a sigh of relief and looked over at Peter. “Ego put this trance on Peter before he died. It exists separate from the light, separate from Ego.”

Gamora huffed and swallowed her rising frustration. “What does that even mean?” She held onto Peter possessively. “We can’t do anything about it? This is just going to keep happening?” Peter whined a small protest at that, his breath catching in his throat.

“I did not say that. I have stopped it for tonight. I do not think the occurrences will be frequent, and if I am correct it should fade over time.” Mantis was apprehensive now, her discomfort due to Gamora’s protectiveness and her role in the situation becoming apparent. “It was very easy to break, I do not think it is a strong force.”

Gamora sighed and looked down at Peter’s shaking form. His hand was fisted in her sleep shirt, his body still trembling against her legs. He appeared to be in shock, understandably not expecting to be woken up to the reminder of his biological father’s plan for universal decimation.

“Thank you, Mantis.” Gamora looked over at the empath and cracked a slight smile, hoping to convey her gratitude. She was not used to thanking others, nor was she used to others committing deeds worthy of thanking, but the development was not undesirable.

“Oh, it was my pleasure!”

The statement was so forced and upbeat that it brought forth a sick feeling to Gamora’s stomach. What if Mantis thought she was being used for her powers again? What if she thought that she was worth no more to them than the abilities she possessed? Mantis was one of them now, and she had to know that she wasn’t on Ego anymore. She wasn’t a pawn to help him commit his narcissistic crusades. 

“No, Mantis. Really.” Gamora made sure her voice was firm, yet reassuring. “You helped a friend today. You have done nothing but help all of us since we met you. Thank you.”

Mantis’ pseudo-smile fell from her face and replaced itself with a startled stare. It was somehow warmer than the smile ever could have been, a mixture of shock and happiness that hadn’t yet bubbled to the surface. Mantis nodded and allowed a more natural smile to take form, a slight curve of her lips as she looked back over at Gamora and Peter.

“I certainly am grateful for you as well. I hope to get to know you all better soon.” Mantis almost giggled with renounced glee. “It surely is nice to have friends!”

Gamora returned a smile, seeing herself from months ago in Mantis now. It seemed like a distant memory, but Gamora recalled a time when the concept of friendship was foreign to her as well. “I look forward to that too, Mantis. Thank you.”

Mantis nodded and wrapped her hands together in front of her. Her eyes were beginning to droop with fatigue, as were her antenna, but she made no moves to exit.

“You can go rest now. I’ve got things from here,” Gamora said, her voice level and compassionate. “Rocket, you too. You should put Groot to bed.”

“I am Groot!!!”

“Nah, Greenie’s right, let’s go Groot.” Rocket sighed. “Pete will be better in the mornin’” The raccoon adjusted the child on his shoulder and shot Gamora a final look.

“Just…shout. If you need me. I—”

“Thanks Rocket, we’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”

“M’not worried. The d’ast humie’s the reason I’m up is all.” Rocket hovered at the entryway as Mantis saw herself out. “But, yeah—okay. See you in the morning, then.”

Rocket and Groot exited, and if Gamora saw Rocket turn around one final time to give Peter a concerned glance, she didn’t say anything.

Once everyone was gone the walls she built up collapsed, and her utter fear and worry reared its head.

“Hey, it’s just me and you. You’re okay,” she whispered, running her hand through his hair repeatedly.

The thin material of her tank top was damp against her skin, Peter’s tears soaking into the cloth. A few of her own tears sprang loose, but she threw her forearm across her face and rid them as they came.

“Please, Peter. Say something. _ Anything, _please.”

Peter tensed at the shoulders before he went to lift himself with his shaky appendages, barely able to bring himself halfway up before Gamora jumped to help him.

His hair was disheveled at the top of his head, Gamora to blame for the way the strands jetted off in different directions. When Gamora went to caress his cheek, she noted the cold tackiness of his skin, wet with droplets of tears and sweat.

His eyes, puffy and bloodshot as they were, were undeniably white and _ green. _

“I thought it was—” He paused, breathing so quick that he gagged on the words.

“Breathe.” She left her hand on the side of his face, wiping his tears from his cheek.

“I woke up and—I thought it was all a dream. I saw eternity again, and I thought… I thought that maybe Ego really did win. That… it was just me and him.”

Peter’s voice cracked and he tilted his head downwards, avoiding her gaze.

“I thought you were dead. I thought you were all dead.” 

Gamora wasn’t sure how to respond to that. She knew how his whispered admission made her feel—like a dagger plunged into her chest—but she could find no words to make his situation better. It was a blunt reminder of her utter lack of experience comforting others, and left her questioning her role in this new unspoken-spoken thing of theirs.

The Sanctuary was a place of torture and horror. Whenever Gamora felt the same as Peter now, melancholy and shaken, there was no comfort to be found. To her, the closest reprieve was Nebula’s harsh offer to train or practice combat skills in the main gym. Nebula would fight well during those sparring sessions, perhaps allowing Gamora to cope by leaving all of her anger and energy on the mat. These moments were among some of the nicer memories she had of her time under Thanos’ rule, but as much as they helped her forget her suffering momentarily, she was left unfulfilled and empty once it was all said and done.

The best she could do now would be to give Peter what she wished she could have had all those years.

“I’m so sorry, Peter. I am here now. We are all here.” Gamora placed her palm beneath his chin, tilting his head upwards so he could see the sincerity on her face. “Ego is gone, this is only temporary.”

Peter let out an exasperated sigh and a constrained laugh quickly followed—teetering on the hysterical side. His tendency to laugh when deeply troubled was disconcerting at first, when it was foreign and she didn’t yet have a clear picture of everything he had gone through. Peter claimed it was a Terran thing, that oftentimes he would laugh when he had no reason to, experiencing such extensive shock from his current circumstances that he used his laughter to distance himself from the pain.

“I’m trying to move on, I’m trying to _ forget, _but he won’t let me… I just want it to stop,” he said, his voice breaking in a way that concerned her immensely.

Gamora was trying to control the fear that had been plaguing her since Ego. Every day she feared that it had been too close, that Peter narrowly avoided death for the last time. She was left wondering when the next threat would come into their lives, threatening to take away the people she cared about most.

Instead, what if it wasn’t another person? What if it wasn’t an outside threat this time? What if Peter’s next enemy was none other than his own head?

Gamora wouldn’t sit around and watch him fall apart and be destroyed by his demons. She refused to watch him bottle it inside, keeping his struggles away from prying eyes and dealing with it all on his lonesome.

Out of everything he had gone through, everything he had faced, this would _ not _ be what broke Peter Quill.

Ego couldn’t be allowed that power, even from beyond the grave.

“Want what to stop, Peter?” Gamora asked, afraid to receive the answer she feared. She couldn’t help him if he didn’t want to be helped.

“Oh, god, not… not _ that, _ just… I—”

Good.

“I just… I want to stop seeing him in my dreams. I want to stop thinking about him… I want to stop hearing him in my _ goddamn _ music!”

Gamora thought about the Zune, as new as it was, consisting of two new playlists in addition to the ones that came pre-installed. Awesome Mix Vol. 1 and Awesome Mix Vol. 2 were among these playlists, one familiar song absent from the entirety of it.

“The last thing I want to see is his fucking eternity, that’s for sure!” Peter paused, taking a moment to breathe through his rage. “I’m just—I'm just so tired, Mora. I’m so tired of it…”

His words pulled at her heart strings again, and she pushed away the fleeting urge to cry. “I know. I know you are,” she said instead, placing a stabilizing hand against his back. “But you don’t have to do this alone.”

“My biological dad, my problem.” Peter pulled his knees up and wrapped his arms around them, the tremor in his limbs still persisting. “I already dragged you guys into that whole mess when he was alive, I don’t want to drag you into another one when he’s dead…”

Gamora sighed. She knew the guilt he was feeling. At least, she knew how she would feel if any one of them were forced to face Thanos. Gamora also knew that Peter would never let her feel sorry for it. He would say that they knew the risks, that knowing her was worth the possibility of having to go against the Titan himself.

“You are not a mess we got dragged into, Peter. You are family. Ego was as much our fight as he was yours—”

Peter tightened his grip around his knees and leaned away from her touch. “But aren’t you tired too? You’ve already been through so much… I’m probably more trouble than I’m worth…”

Gamora let go and moved to sit directly in front of him, allowing him to focus on her words.

“The only thing I am tired of is watching you suffer. When I was a child I would stand by while the people I cared about were left to struggle in vain.” Gamora’s voice hitched. “I will not let you be one of them,” she said with gravity.

“That’s not your fault. You were just trying to survive.” Peter followed her eyes as he spoke, his tone accompanying the same urgency as hers.

“Maybe, but that doesn’t change anything. You are not trouble, and you are certainly worth more than what you’ve been given.” She sighed. “Yes, I have been through a lot, but so have you. We both have.”

“I’ve had it good compared to you.” 

If Gamora didn’t know any better, she’d say that Peter sounded almost _ guilty. _But then again, when it came to Peter, he was so unpredictable at times that it was entirely possible that Gamora did not know any better. Guilty, not guilty, she didn’t know, but Gamora was starting to realize to expect the unexpected when it came to Peter Quill.

She wouldn’t put it past him to feel guilty for something so out of his control.

“So don’t compare,” she said. “Our struggles are different, but that does not make what you’ve been through any less valid. You deserve to have someone help you through this.”

Peter was quiet for a moment. Too quiet, almost. Before she could worry about whether or not she had said the wrong thing, Gamora forced herself to calm down and allowed him a few minutes to get his thoughts in order. He was still shaking, after all, the adrenaline in his body still gearing up for a fight as if Ego were just around the corner.

“I don’t know how to get through this,” he whispered at last, deflating as he decided to start accepting her help.

“Maybe tonight we’ll start by getting a full night of rest?”

“I doubt that’s gonna happen.” He let out a self deprecating chuckle before his expression turned serious. “What if… What if it happens again?”

“It won’t.” Gamora mustered the most serious tone she could, trying to sound convincing enough to coerce him into trying to get some sleep. “Mantis said she stopped it for tonight.” Peter raised his brow skeptically. “And if it does, I’ll be here.”

“You’re staying?”

“I said I wasn’t going to let you do this alone, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, I guess you did technically say that, huh.” He said, a foolish smile lighting up his face. “So what was this then, some scheme to get into my bed? Because if it was, seriously, you coulda’ve just _ asked— _”

“Shh, Peter,” Gamora said with no trace of annoyance in her voice. She wouldn’t have been able to shake the giant, schoolgirl smile off her face even if she tried. “Rest.” She placed a palm against his chest, urging him to lay down as she maneuvered her way under the covers.

It wasn’t the first time she had done this, but it was the first time they’d be sharing the same bed since the admittance of a certain “unspoken thing.”

The next few minutes were spent with a pleasant silence filling the room. Gamora honed in on the distinct thumping of his heart and, if she was correct, the silence probably made it possible for Peter to hear her own as well.

Gamora lay there, enjoying both the silence and her present company, until the man beside her scoffed and shook his head.

“I always knew that sailor was a dick,” Peter mumbled nonsensically, but Gamora understood.

She hummed in agreement.

“He was.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I love that freaking fanart so much and this is definitely head canon now.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed! As always, please leave kudos, reviews, or drop in your favorite quotes!


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